Icarus
by NevWriting
Summary: Castiel is caught in the wrong place at the wrong time when he meets The Boss; a cold, calculating criminal he can't stop thinking about no matter how much he tries. But the crime boss has his own plans, and his own interests in Castiel. Now Castiel is trapped in a life he doesn't fully understand; all he knows is he can't escape it, he can't stop it, and isn't sure if he wants to.
1. Chapter 1

_Foreword: This story was inspired by my friend milarrrrr, and without her there would be no story :) This will be an eventual Alastair/Castiel, with light, one-sided Destiel. Warnings for language, violence, and eventual graphic violence and graphic sexual situations._

**_VERY IMPORTANT MESSAGE:_**

**_CHAPTER 1, 2, 3 AND 4 HAVE RECEIVED MAJOR CHANGES IN PLOT LINE TO MAINTAIN THE CONTINUITY. They are longer and, hopefully, much better written now. _****_Chapter 1 also has a different conclusion and the changes will carry on through chapter 2, chapter 3, and the beginning of chapter 4. No drastic changes have been made to the current plot line that has been posted._**

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**Chapter 1**

At least once in his life, Castiel was going to have a normal day.

The young man cringed and ducked down behind the ice freezer, bracing his hands over his head. He prayed to God, Buddha, Jesus, Zeus, Shiva, Earth Mother or whatever greater power was listening that no one barging in knew he existed and there was no way Castiel was going to die in a _convenience_ store. No way. Not gonna happen. He despised living here.

Castiel slid further down the floor, hoping that the closer he was to laying down the more likely he was to be overlooked, and flinched when a fourth, fifth bang cracked through the air, thundering footsteps echoing down the aisles as the thugs kicked the door open to enter the store.

"Get _out_!" One of the voices shouted over the gasps and cries of alarm from the other patrons of the store. There weren't many and they weren't stupid enough to make him ask twice; Castiel heard the people scurry out like rats to the street.

Castiel gulped and was about to stand up to join the other intelligent people when a splitting slam into the shelf one row behind him made Castiel jump like a spooked cat and crash back down, slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle a yelp. He quickly reassumed his position behind the icebox, drawing his legs up close to make himself as insignificant and as unnoticeable as possible. Crap. _Crap. _They thought the store was empty, they didn't know he was still here!

The slam was followed shortly by desperate, incoherent blubbering that Castiel recognized solely as the manager of the place.

"Rick, shut the _fuck_ up before I go Columbian necktie on that fat tongue of yours!" One of the thugs barked out the words, his tone boorish and irate.

Castiel forced himself motionless and silent, shutting his eyes and feigning nonexistence. It was just a robbery; that was it. They would be done quickly and it would _over_ and he could get out of the shop without them ever knowing they had a witness other than the store owner.

"No, please, God, I didn't- I forgot it was this week I swear, please-" The manager sobbed.

Castiel's brow furrowed in confusion where he sat curled into as diminutive a ball as possible. This week?

"We gave you ten days, you little shit, pay up!"

Realization dawned on Castiel then, his eyes widening. Living on the side of town where no one would dare walk alone at night, it wasn't the first time he'd heard gangs coming by to gather up payments, usually from petty things like gambles or bets gone wrong. Castiel bit his lip. It didn't matter that it was commonplace in these parts, Castiel had never actually been _close_ to one of the incidents, and never with the fear of being discovered spiking down his spine like the slow pull of a knife on his skin. He never wanted to experience a confrontation as personally as this; he needed confrontation like a hole in the head.

Castiel was maybe a bit of a coward, but being a coward was what made him _survive_ in the slums of the city. Castiel had a part time job at the local coffee house and went to school full time, so he needed the cheapest dwellings he could find. Gunfire or gang fights every night meant a rent cheaper than his food bill. Such was college life.

He knew he was in a bad place, but so far he was managing. So far. He was still decidedly trapped behind an icebox waiting for the inconsequential gang to finish their business and let Castiel continue his life pretending he wasn't _inches_ away from the crime.

"You hear me, fuck head!?" The same thug started up, "You pay or-"

"Hush, you Neanderthal. I'm not cleaning up his piss if you make him soil himself."

There was a stutter then, a quiet jerk in the thug's voice that transformed all of his gruff anger into the beaten obedience of a child.

"S-Sorry boss."

Oh. Oh, that was unexpected. The color drained from Castiel's face when the smooth purr of carefully articulated words sliced through the air with a razor's edge. He thought this was just a group of asses shaking down the manager for money. He'd never heard of a boss being involved, never even fathomed that there was a leader to the gangs at all. A leader meant something bigger than just a gang, something more organized that intermittent crimes but Castiel didn't know what. If he wasn't so morbidly _curious_ right now he would have been too terrified to move.

But true to his suicidal curiosity, Castiel gathered his breath, took a deep inhale to hold all that he could, and inched over to the side of the freezer to peer around the edge.

Two of the men, bulky with the physique akin to professional wrestlers or linebackers, had the owner Richard pinned up high on one of the metal shelves, his feet nearly off the ground and fumbling for purchase he would never find. Parted like the Red Sea the other men stood on either side of another, much older man, a good decade or so older than the rest. He was slimmer, taller and lankier than the quartet of thugs surrounding him and although he was the apparent boss of these lackeys, he wasn't dressed the way Castiel imagined a criminal would. He was trimmed cleanly and meticulously, not a wrinkle out of place on the stark white dress shirt or black and grey pinstriped slacks he wore; his dress shoes immaculately shined into black mirrors of obsidian that matched a pitch black jacket he wore with a steel grey waist coat. The man dressed like he was going to a banquet, not… like a loan shark looking for his dues. The criminal pulled off the look with a certain sharp elegance, the rigid, perfect posture composed like a viper staring down its prey. He looked good. Petrifying, but _good._

"Now now now, Ricky, no reason to be so scared," the boss said softly, very nearly with kindness but Castiel could see in his dark, icy and lifeless eyes and a smile that didn't quite stretch his lips enough, he didn't reflect any true sympathy. Castiel flinched despite himself and honed in when the boss continued to speak.

"We won't kill you today. I'm in much too nice clothes, as you see," the boss continued, still smiling. Rick whimpered. "Now this is how we're going to play. Today, we're only going to break four of your fingers. Two on each hand. That way you can still count out the money you owe us when we come back next week."

His voice was nothing but a silky, frozen drawl, elegantly collected into a symphony of something similar to velvet and nails on a chalkboard. There was almost a lisp to his tone it as well, nearly enough to throw off the articulation if not for it coming out of _this_ man. What it did do was make the pit in Castiel's stomach tighten, and he gulped down the barest amount of air to keep from fainting.

"No, no no no please-" Richard blubbered.

"You rather us slit your double fuckin' chin?" One of the thugs holding Richard up snapped.

The silence following was deafening. Castiel felt and heard his heart leap into his throat at the pause of the scene, like a carefully rehearsed stage play suddenly gone downhill when the actor said the wrong line at the worst possible moment. Castiel watched chilling, irritated eyes turn to the thug that spoke out of turn. Castiel chewed the inside of his lip and the others lowered their heads.

"Did I ask for input?" He purred, his voice low now, dripping with venom deadlier than a snake.

"S-sorry boss," the thug's voice quavered, "I-it won't happened again, promise, please don't-"

It happened so quickly Castiel nearly missed it; before he even finished the apology the boss's fist slammed into his lackey's side, making the much larger man drop like a sack of bricks to his knees where he wheezed for breath and clenched his eyes shut in agony. Another man stepped into his position without a word.

Castiel nearly choked on his tongue from the display of strength but he couldn't bear to look away now; it was too terrifying not to watch, but everything in him wished he was far away from here, anywhere but _here_. Castiel's wide eyes stayed fixed on the boss, the calculated curve of the criminal's lips just barely hinting at a sneer of annoyance. He was so _controlled, _so sharp and frigid Castiel could feel the ice scratching up his spine and turning his nerves to stone. The cold man turned back to Rick, straightened out his shirt, and smirked.

"Next week son. Save the date."

With that a sharp howl tore through the shop when the thugs snapped the last two fingers on both of Rick's hands, dropping him without a care so that the manager could curl on the floor and cradle his broken fingers. The boss just looked at him with a slight sneer, taking a step back so that manager would not fall on his faultlessly cleaned shoes. Richard gasped and choked back a whimper of pain.

"Get him up," this time the leader thumbed his nose at the henchmen still sprawled on the floor, and they moved quickly to obey. Castiel could feel himself shaking where he was slumped uselessly against the freezer, unable to look away from the ruthless criminal.

Just when Castiel thought he had the nerve get his bearings, stand up and scurry out of there, the boss's stony eyes lifted and looked right. At Castiel. Looked _right at him_, his gaze boring into him and the smirk that curled his lips told Castiel that the boss knew he'd been trapped there the whole time.

Castiel's heart stopped in his chest, becoming a tight, trembling knot as every nerve short-circuited with panic yet still he couldn't look away, quietly reciting a last will and testament before he died. He knew what these men did. He'd heard of people like them killing better men for less.

But the boss's smirk just widened, and he turned away with no indication he had spotted Castiel. He curled two fingers behind him in indication for the other henchmen to follow, and they left without a word.

Castiel slumped against the icebox, his eyes wide and heart hammering in his chest to find some semblance of a steady rhythm again. He…he hadn't experienced such terror ever in his life. It had set alight nerves and fears Castiel never knew he had, but harrowing in ways Castiel couldn't describe. It was exhilarating, and terrifying.

That look the boss had given him, though; if Castiel had made one move, one dumb mistake like make noise or try to run, he knew he would have died. Because the boss knew he was there. He had known, and spared Castiel. He was not going to take that generosity lightly.

He was never coming back to this store again.

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A/n: Hope you enjoyed guys; comments, questions, and concerns are all appreciated XD


	2. Chapter 2

_Foreword: And chapter 2. Hope you like, and any reviews or comments are much appreciated._

_This story was inspired by my friend milarrrrr, and without her there would be no story. This will be an eventual Alastair/Castiel, with light, one-sided Destiel. Warnings for language, violence, and eventual graphic violence and graphic sexual situations._

_**VERY IMPORTANT MESSAGE:**_

_**Chapter 1, 2, 3, and 4 have received major changes to the plot line in order to keep with continuity. The plot line as posted has not changed.**_

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Castiel didn't sleep the night following his unwilling witnessing of the gang's crime. All he kept seeing were dark, deadly eyes and a vicious smirk when he tried to lull himself to sleep in the false comfort of the black behind his eyelids. At first Castiel simply couldn't close his eyes for too long, the black suddenly a canvas for the cascade of images from the event he wished he never had to see. But then as the days went by, all of the images that plagued his dreams transformed into waking thoughts, and suddenly it was all Castiel could do to try to pay attention in his class and take notes with a cruel sneer and drawling purr at the forefront of his mind.

He couldn't stop thinking about the crime, and about the leader. How deliberately the boss moved and spoke. How merciless he was not only to the store owner but to his own men.

Castiel kept thinking about him, wondering what he was doing now, and when he would waltz back to that store to collect his payments. Whether Castiel would ever have the unfortunate circumstance of experiencing that again. Maybe his heart would beat hard like a drum like last time, and sensations he never experienced before would again be sharp and powerful. He wanted to know why he responded that way; why, when he was stock still with fright, hadn't he been able to look away. Why he wanted to keep looking into those toxic eyes and wait for the boss's next move when he knew full well that next move would have been lethal.

That man, the leader of the gang, was what really kept Castiel awake at night and his mind clouded during the day; the penetrating, intent stare freezing Castiel to the spot on the floor, the smirk that sent chills down Castiel's spine and the charity the boss showed by not holding eye contact any longer than for Castiel to see him, and not for anyone else to realize the boss was watching him. The terrifying look in his eyes told Castiel no, he hadn't spared Castiel out of the kindness of his black, twisted heart. He spared Castiel as a warning to all stupid children caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It was a cut and dry crime. The gang was gathering money. Castiel got out alive, that awful moment in his life was behind him, and he could never go back. There was nothing more to it.

But then why did his thoughts keep going to that man? Why was the mere thought of those thin, curling lips enough to keep him wide awake?

"Cas?"

He must put starch in those shirts to make them so stiff.

"Cas."

Did crime bosses pack or did their henchmen carry all the weapons?

"Cas!"

Castiel would need to find a new store to buy his milk. He didn't want to accidentally run into that gang, but then again, if he saw the boss-

Castiel almost choked on the pencil bobbing between his lips when the person calling out his name in the very distant back of his mind grabbed him by the shoulders and shook. It jarred him away from his intermittent thoughts, looking up into the bright, emerald green eyes of his best friend.

"De-, Dean, _what?_" Castiel asked, looking up in bewilderment. Dean scoffed but smiled at him, all perfect celebrity teeth, and shoved Castiel's shoulder gently before hopping up to sit on his desk. He tossed the newspaper that was in his hand to the side, swinging one foot lazily as he watched Castiel with an amused grin.

"You were full on going psycho on me man, completely spacing out."

Castiel looked up into Dean's bright, shining eyes and masked a hard swallow. "You must be mistaken."

Dean looked at him with a deeply incredulous expression for a moment, their eyes locking before Castiel looked away, casting blue eyes nervously downward to fidget with his pencil. Dean was one of the classmates he'd had for only one year out of the three at the college, but he was his closest friend. They had met and hit it off immediately, as least on Dean's side. It wasn't so easy for the other.

"Cas, you okay?" Dean interjected his thoughts again, but Castiel just sighed.

"Yes. I'm fine Dean," he replied softly, still looking everywhere but at his friend. Anywhere but his thick lips and those angel-kiss freckles, the way Dean spread his legs when he sat up on the table and that thick spiky hair Castiel wanted to _bury_ his hands-

Dean's resounding, bell-like laugh broke Castiel from his train of thought again and he looked up to give Dean a small smile, swallowing down all the dangerous thoughts churning in his head.

It was difficult, because he and Dean were friends, and Castiel had a _ridiculous_ crush on him.

"Dude you should've come with me last night. This chick I picked up? Man, she had legs that went on for _miles_, and this bright red hair-"

Dean was also as straight as a tack. He didn't know Castiel was gay; barely anyone one knew, actually. A man could dream, though.

Dean and Castiel had a…complicated relationship. Ever since Castiel was a kid, he had been generous, as well as a follower. He always listened to his older siblings; he let his friends boss him around; he gave everything he had. He just wanted to help, and he wanted the people around him to be happy. Castiel knew what he was able to give; his time, his money, or his patience, so that was what he gave.

His father never approved of his behavior, and he certainly didn't approve of it when his older brothers took advantage of his generosity. Castiel was, apparently, lost in the delusion that what he paid would come back tenfold. He thought he'd finally broken out of that endless cycle of self-denial when he saved up his money and got himself to college, with little help from his dad after sending off his other son but Castiel was _sure_ he would make it on his own.

Then he found Dean Winchester, a beautiful boy lost in his own personal nightmare. He was poor, hungry, working three jobs so that his little brother had a meal a day and a dry place to sleep, but he couldn't get himself out because of a heavy debt to something Dean would never say. It was love at first sight, and Castiel, delusional as his friends and family told him, poured his trust fund in two years to Dean to pay off his debt and get himself straight, and back in school. Lo and behold, they didn't have to do a thing with Sam— the kid got a full ride to Stanford and booked it to the west coast. As heartbroken as Dean was by his brother's departure, he knew the east had nothing but a bad name and debts for him and wished his brother the best. Dean called him every night to check on the kid.

Dean didn't know Castiel was penniless now, that he'd spent everything to get Dean a better life. He had given him the down payment for his apartment, and the sudden relief allowed Dean to buy good clothes to a good job interview, and now that job paid for the apartment he would share with Sam in the summer. Despite Dean just scrapping enough for rent Castiel knew he was too proud to share with any classmates. Castiel wished Dean had asked him. But Dean never did, and he never seemed to notice that Castiel's own clothes got more and more threadbare as the months went by.

He didn't mind, though. Castiel knew he loved Dean, at the very least as his friend. Anything further than that was left up to his ridiculous crush on the younger man. Regardless of his feelings, Dean was happy and safe now and that was all Castiel wanted. Well, that and to get a taste of those juicy lips. They were so _big_.

"Cas, you're zoning on me."

Castiel blinked. Crap, Dean was still talking. Dean was still talking? Dean never talked more than necessary, unless it was about sex with woman or about Sam at college. Castiel knew from past experience to try not to mix those two up.

"You were, uhm. Ah. Talking about asses?" Castiel took a shot in the dark with that one. Dean talked frequently about either a good looking behind or someone who was acting particularly _like_ a behind. It was the safest bet Castiel had.

Dean just stared at him for a moment, and then broke out into laughter, throwing his head back enough to tilt off balance on the desk. Alright. Maybe that wasn't a safe bet.

"I don't understand what's so funny. Were you not talking about asses?" Castiel tried, and he was rewarded with another loud bark of laughter from Dean, his friend sliding off of the table to remove the risk of toppling off. Dean fought back a grin, poorly attempting to control himself from the obvious amusement he got out of Castiel's response. Castiel frowned.

"I suppose not," he said dryly, mostly to himself, "Sorry. I was…_zoning_." He used the word Dean had, though it wasn't the foremost statement that came to mind.

Dean bit his lip on his grin. "Shit, Cas, what are you on and why aren't you sharing? I gotta know what's going on in that head that _asses_ were the first thing on your mind."

"It, it wasn't- I just-" Castiel sputtered, not wanting to argue about posteriors.

"Man, you _clearly _had a late night," Dean smirked at him, nudging Castiel's side slightl with his elbow in what Castiel finally figured out was innuendo, "Anything you wanna share?"

Late night dreaming- having _nightmares_ about dark, cold eyes? Yes, that certainly accounted for a late night. But definitely not something Castiel would share with Dean. It wasn't exactly a good conversational topic.

"Uhm, yes! I did. Very late night. So late. I should actually return home, it was so very late, I couldn't even sleep," Castiel said quickly, with a grin meant to placate Dean but all it did was earn him an eyebrow arch. He then patted Castiel's shoulder with a snort, and Castiel sighed. Castiel really sucked at cover stories.

"Come on, hotshot, let's get you home."

That wasn't good. While Castiel was jumpier than a jack rabbit at the moment—the memories still so fresh— and didn't particularly like the idea of walking the streets alone in the evening, he would rather die than have Dean find out where he lived; he couldn't bear the humiliation.

"No, no it's fine. I am capable of escorting myself home," Castiel declared quickly, standing up from his seat and gathering his books. Dean sighed, sliding his hands into his pockets as his brow furrowed on Castiel. The other gulped, clutching his books a little and hoping Dean wasn't going to ask what he thought he was.

"Hey, I've never seen your place but you've seen mine. It's not fair, we should get to hang at your place, too."

Dean did ask. Castiel offered him the kindest, least pained smile possible, "Life is not fair, Dean."

"Really?" Dean griped, "That's your reason?"

"The answer is no," Castiel answered, a little more curtly.

Dean crossed his arms, "What, you got rats or something, what?"

"It's not going to happen Dean."

"It's like the _apocalypse_ would start if I stepped foot in your house!" Dean exclaimed, throwing his hands up overdramatically. Castiel sighed.

"Yes, it would Dean. Directly after the four horsemen stampeded down First Street," he deadpanned, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"You know what? You need something in your life. Some _excitement_!"

"I have excitement, Dean," Castiel tried to divert the conversation, rubbing his index finger nervously over the pages of one of his notebooks. The pages were worn down on that edge, frayed and his notes faded on the inside.

"Watching the grass grow in your flower box I'm sure is _very_ invigorating," Dean nagged sarcastically.

Dean apparently didn't take the hint, and Castiel was unamused, "Stop mocking me."

"Stop mocking me."

Castiel dropped his head down to his books, taking a deep breath. Remember happy places, with flowers and pillows. Not wringing Dean's neck. Although that thought was rather happy right now. Really, how did crushes even work?

"I'm going before I hit you." Castiel mumbled into his books.

"Aw, you're such a prude." The tone in Dean's voice told Castiel he was smiling, and he relaxed just a little even at the name calling. Dean was a merciless teaser, but meant nothing by it. Castiel had learned how to handle his constant jibes.

"Hey can you grab that?" Dean asked, "You know the professor gets his panties in a bunch if we leave stuff behind."

Castiel looked up to see Dean pointing to the newspaper he left behind.

"Get it yourself, lazy," Castiel grumbled.

"You're closer. Consider it payback for not letting me hang out with you at your apocalyptic house," Dean claimed with a hand clutching over his heart, still feigning actual hurt over not being allowed to throw a sleep over. Castiel chuckled a little and accepted that, because if he didn't Dean's insistence would only start anew. In a strange way, Castiel mused that he won that battle and smiled a bit to himself as he grabbed the paper.

Dean headed to the door while Castiel skimmed over the front page, in idle curiosity before he threw it away. Just as he was about to toss it his eyes glued onto a story in the corner, freezing him to the spot. Castiel felt the color drain from his face.

"Hey, Cas-... Cas?" Dean turned around, his brow creased in confusion. Castiel didn't move. He was reading the brief, almost insignificantly placed story on the sidebar of the front page, utter disbelief etched onto his features.

_Local Store Robbery! Manager Can't Identify Criminals_

_Local convenience store Rick's Hardware and Groceries was robbed Friday afternoon by what witnesses claim to be several adult men. Richard Bollard claims that only a few items were taken and that he did not get a good look at the men, yet witnesses say they were not masked. Mrs. Schenk of Washington Street claims she saw several of the men wielding guns as they barged into the store and ordered everyone out. Although the store was vandalized and several shelves ruined Mr. Bollard is not pressing charges at this time. Authorities are asking if the manager may be hiding something, and believe there may have been another witness to the robbery inside the store. Several young boys witnessed a young adult male with dark hair fleeing the vicinity of the store after the robbery, and are asking for anyone who may have gotten a closer look at the either the witness or the criminals' faces to come forward._

Castiel's hands shook a little as he read the little article again and again, until finally the tremors were too much and he had to toss the paper away.

For a moment, Castiel thought he could put what happened behind him. Talking with Dean, the joshing and the wheedling was so normal, so typical of his life he could almost slough off last weekend's events like a terrible nightmare. But they knew. The police knew he had been there, and they were _searching_ for him. They only way they could have known was if Richard confessed to spotting Castiel sneak out the back and book it with his tail between his legs. Richard hadn't said anything to him at the time despite Castiel knowing he had been spotted, but it didn't matter. It shouldn't have mattered, at least. Why should it concern him? It didn't concern him!

No, no he wanted out. He wanted no part of this debacle in his life; it involved Richard and his illegal dealings with a crime gang Castiel never desired to know existed. He needed to get to Richard and ask him if he said anything at all about Castiel being there. Castiel wanted his life _normal_ again, without the thoughts and certainly not with any police on his tail!

"Cas?" Dean asked tentatively, "You okay?"

Castiel swallowed hard, looking up at Dean with slightly wide eyes. "I…I have to go."

Before Dean could say anything more Castiel was out the door and bolting down the street.


	3. Chapter 3

_Foreword: And chapter 3. Hope you like, and any reviews or comments are much appreciated._

_This story was inspired by my friend milarrrrr, and without her there would be no story. This will be an eventual Alastair/Castiel, with light, one-sided Destiel.  
_

_Warnings this chapter for **violence, threats of death, language**._

_**VERY**** IMPORTANT MESSAGE:**_

_****__Chapter_ 1, 2, 3, and 4 have received major changes to the plot line in order to keep with continuity. The plot line as posted has not changed.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Alright, so perhaps running right back to the store where this entire mess began wasn't the most ideal choice of action, but what other option did he have? He needed to set this situation straight, to make sure he was left out of this predicament so that no one, not the police or the _witnesses_ or Richard the manager would drag him back in. He really had the most terrible luck sometimes, but that didn't mean he was going to let himself get involved with this gang of thugs, or whatever it was, immoral or illegal, Richard had to do with them.

The sign on the door stated "CLOSED," but Castiel tried the door anyway, relieved to find it unlocked and without another wasted moment, bolted to the front. Richard looked up at the approaching boy with his big eyes growing bigger, his jaw almost dropping.

"K-, kid what are you _doing _here, the store is closed!" he exclaimed, his eyes jumping frantically from where they were focused on the newspaper in his hands up to Castiel, fumbling clumsily with three appendages to flip it face down. When Castiel reached the desk he recognized the paper as the very one he'd read just twenty minutes prior so he grabbed the paper and turned it right side up, pointing to the article that mentioned the crime, and more distressingly, mentioned Castiel.

"This. Did you see this?" Castiel asked, swallowing hard past the dryness in his throat, "Did you _say_ anything?"

Richard's eyes were still large and bug-like, not sure whether he should keep his eyes on Castiel's face or the paper so they simply buzzed in between. He cleared his throat and tugged his collar where it pinched just a little too close to his neck, "I'm… not sure what you're talking about. You have to leave-"

"Look, I _know_ you saw me!" Castiel muttered tersely, somewhat under his breath even though he knew they were alone in the store, "I just. I never wanted to be _stuck_ in here when that-"

"When what? It was just a robbery…" Richard's voice trailed off, insincerity coloring his words. Castiel silently fumed at his continued denial.

"Fine," he sighed, "Whatever you are calling it, I don't want any _part_ of it. Did you talk about me to the police?"

Richard regarded Castiel consolingly, his brow creasing upward as he put his hands up awkwardly, fingers held steady with thick bandages. "Hey, I didn't mention you to _anyone,_ I swear. I don't want you to get wrapped up in this anymore than you do. It's none of your business-"

The store owner trailed off as his eyes travelled to the front of the store, his throat working around a gulp. Castiel's brow furrowed.

"What. What is it?" He asked, glancing over his shoulder but finding nothing in sight.

That was when the doorbell jingled. But the store was supposedly closed.

"You gotta get out of here," Richard hissed under his breath after a beat of silence, snatching the newspaper back from Castiel, "Go, just—oh, there's no time, get outta sight!"

For a second Castiel just stared numbly at the store owner, but when he hissed out "Go!" again and pointed the direction away from the door, Castiel's base faculties came back and he scrambled to hide behind the deplorably familiar freezer.

This wasn't happening. This was not happening, crap, crap, no, this was _not_ happening again! Castiel tucked his legs inward and hid himself in the minuscule space as much as possible, ducking his head between his knees and smacking his head repeatedly on the bony knobs of jean-clad flesh. Castiel, without a doubt, had the worst luck in the universe. The events of the previous week seemed to be breathing down his neck like cruel laughter to a crueler joke. He wanted out of this, not to be a recurring witness!

Castiel looked up quickly, remembering his mode of escape from the week before; the back door. It was a clear shot from the freezer, and a blind spot, really, just by the placement of the shelves. Only someone standing behind the counter would actually observe him hightail it out the door. Of course someone would notice the door open and slam, but by then Castiel would be running –hopefully—too fast for any thugs to catch up. It was his ticket out. He peered around the corner only a moment to catch a glimpse of several heads weaving through the shelves, and Castiel swallowed hard.

He could make it if he left now. He could put this entire mess behind him, once and for all. But… but he needed to know why. He couldn't sleep at night, he couldn't think, he could hardly breathe without the events playing through his mind, the rattle of the shelves when the store owner was slammed into them, and the words enunciated so clearly and crisply from the boss's calm tenor it cut through Castiel's skin savagely and as acutely as a razor. Maybe if he stayed, and witnessed it again without doing anything stupid like making his presence known, he could figure out what it _meant_ when he was kept awake at night by seeing the boss's victorious smirk, and why he wanted to see it again.

It was insane. Asinine, ridiculous, everything Castiel shouldn't do because he wasn't supposed to get into trouble; he was the good boy that got good grades and paid his bills on time and didn't have questions about the adrenaline already pumping through his veins and begging for more stimulation. But he was smart, too. He knew if he stayed put, and said nothing to no one, this could be the last time. He just needed to clear his head. Witness this again and sort it out like a puzzle. That was all. Castiel slid down against the freezer, long since missing his window of opportunity, and waited out the event.

He didn't dare peek around as he did the previous encounter, not moronic enough to risk being discovered by frigid eyes as he unfortunately was last time. Castiel wasn't remotely in any position to test his luck.

The shuffle of footsteps was quiet and polite this time where they clacked on the tile floor, approaching the counter at a steady, unhurried pace. It was eerily quiet, the contrast from the last, explosive time they stormed in here making Castiel shift uncomfortably. He remained quiet and still as the grave, and so did Richard until the footsteps stopped. He refused to move, too stunned and stubborn to do otherwise. He chewed the inside of his lip and settled down for the long haul.

After a few more quiet moments Castiel wondered if the boss was even there. He contemplated the possibilities of whether the leader would waste his time coming to make a collection at a local convenience store. It didn't matter that he came by last time, it wasn't as though bosses of street gangs made regular trips to food stores for money; that was the reason they invested in henchmen.

"You got the money, Rick?" One of the men said, his voice low and smoker rough; nothing like his leader's. The young man frowned to himself and sighed quietly, dropping his chin to his knees and questioning why the pit in his stomach sank at the idea the leader was not accompanying his men today.

"Y-yes, of course, it's a-ah, here..." Richard muttered, trying to keep his voice steady and even.

Castiel should be relieved. The boss was not around to make his nightmares worse. The sooner he got away from this, and the memory of that man, the better. Still, something in Castiel almost yearned to behold the boss's presence again. The ruthless intensity of the gang leader's imposing figure had certainly left its brand. He reasoned that just a glimpse of his eyes again or the sound of his viciously demure tone of voice would put his nightmares and morbid curiosities to rest. Or maybe quench the nightmares' thirst for more. He wasn't sure he was curious enough to know which would happen.

It was hardly of any consequence, anyway; the boss was far away from this store and Castiel could put this entire catastrophe behind him. At least, that was what he told himself. Castiel shook that thought away and instead focused on any sounds he could pick up from the exchange only a few feet away.

Richard was shifting around, rather noisily pulling out drawers of the shop and rustling paperwork until he settled on one drawer to pull out... something. Castiel didn't hear any bag or suitcase or the regular items for carrying large amounts of cash. His brow creased in confusion but he stayed resolutely still, refusing to be caught like last time for investigating. Then again, if the boss wasn't there, what did he have to fear?

Castiel's curiosity was a deadly thing. He cursed himself and scooted to the edge so that he could peer around the corner just like last time, and he watched Richard hand one of the henchmen a small stack of bills; probably hundreds and fifties. Castiel resisted the urge to smack his own forehead and turned to face forward behind the freezer again. He was an idiot sometimes. Money transactions were _hardly_ going to be the same as they were in movies. At least this was going to be over quickly.

"Hey, Rick, you're two hundred short here."

Or perhaps not.

Richard's voice was miniscule and shaky again, "What? Oh, no I'm not the b-bill was-"

"You're two _hundred_ short on late fees, fat fuck, don't play dumb!"

"I can't pull out anymore, I can't, I'll have it next week. Just give me more time-"

The store owner never finished speaking, his quivering stutter cut off by a very distinct gagging sound. Castiel's eyes widened, his entire body locking up and forced still not just for self-preservation but from pure, abject fear. They were choking him. Each second that dragged on with nothing but muffled gurgles and the low laugh of one of the henchmen filled the air as long as a lifetime, and Castiel unwittingly counted every single one of his heartbeats that passed in the slow seconds, as if they were the last ones he'd ever hear. As if he was the one being strangled. The blood pounded through his veins hotly, throbbing through every nerve and through his ears, heightening the fear already scratching away at his composure. He clawed at the floor to keep himself still.

"That's enough, I think he gets the hint."

And then there it was; the soft, silky drawl of the boss split the air like static charge and Castiel took a deep breath the exact moment the manager gasped for breath. And as if the terror cutting its way into Castiel's stomach could not get _worse_, now his heart was beating hard, so painfully hard it forced hot blood through every fiber of his being so it was all he could do to strain over the sound of his own thumping arteries to listen to the rest of the conversation. The boss was here. He was _here_.

"S-sorry, I'm sorry!" Richard gagged out, coughing and panting for air.

"Don't be _sorry_," the boss purred, "Just hand over what you owe or I may just regret telling my buddy to let go."

If voices could kill. Castiel shivered and stayed still, the irrational side of him saying that if he moved they would hear the barest scrape of his shoes on the linoleum like predators hunting prey. Maybe not so irrational, with how perceptively the leader had found him last time. Crap, the leader was _here!_

"Okay, okay. I g-got it," Richard stuttered, and then a few, agonizingly long seconds later the boss was talking again.

"There you go, Ricky, was that so hard?" The boss chuckled, a lilted sound almost like a child pleased with getting a present. Why it made this man more frightening, Castiel might never figure out.

"Now remember, Rick," one of the henchmen spat out, "You don't say nothing to nobody."

"Of course. I won't."

There was just a beat of silence, and then the steady shuffling of footsteps heading back to the side of the store the entrance was. Castiel literally sagged in relief, sliding down the floor slightly and taking a deep, controlling breath.

"Uhm… boss?" The tentative voice of one of the lackeys piped up, and Castiel felt a cold trickle raise the hairs on the back of his neck.

When the boss spoke again his voice not on the other side of the store but right where it was before, next to Richard.

"You read the paper, Ricky?" He inquired, his tone almost mulling.

Castiel's brow creased, and the confusion in Richard's response mirrored Castiel's thoughts.

"Yes. U-uhm, sometimes."

"There's quite an interesting side comment about you…" There was a light tap of fingers, "_Right_ here. You wouldn't have happened to try to get cozy with the cops?"

Castiel remembered that the paper was still on the counter, and sort of wanted to strangle Richard himself for not tossing that thing away before they came in.

"No! No, of course not, you know I wouldn't," Richard rushed out quickly.

"That so?" He drawled, just a hint of incredulity lacing his words, "Talk to anyone else recently?"

"N-no…"

"That's too bad."

A series of steady, careful footsteps followed his words. "I guess we'll have to do this the hard way."

His voice was getting closer. Why was his voice getting closer?

"Boys, seems like we have a rat in our midst."

Castiel jumped at the silky voice _right above him _and snapped his head up to lock eyes directly with the boss, smirking down at him with a merciless curl to his lips like the cat that got the canary.

The criminal's eyes had been dark and penetrating when Castiel first looked at them, but with no real substance to his eyes or the rest of his features from the brief and distance look Castiel had barely had time to perceive. Now, Castiel saw everything in vivid detail.

Castiel zeroed in on the steel grey irises like twin knives splitting into him up close and personal, pinning him to the spot on the floor where he was petrified with fear. The gang leader leaned his narrow hip against the freezer, his arms crossed nonchalantly over his impeccably tailored, wrinkle-free jacket, fingers drumming over his bicep as he stared down his aquiline, narrow nose at the kid. He was tall, very tall with his salt-and-peppered hair slicked to the side in the ridged perfection of a statue.

Castiel just stared back into his dagger-grey eyes, too terrified to move, as a pitiful whimper squeaked out of his throat.

Shit.

"Might want to practice breathing through your nose. Mouth breathers tend to get caught," the boss purred, and the younger man didn't even have a chance to speak before one lithe, deceptively powerful hand grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him down into the icebox.

"Well well well, little rat is a mouse," the boss chuckled, tilting his head as he bored frozen eyes into Castiel's huge, frightened blue, and Castiel trembled against the freezer, "Still wet behind the ears, are we?"

"L-look, I-, I don't w-want any trouble, okay?" Castiel quavered out with the little breath he had, trying to keep his voice from cracking and very nearly failing. The gang leader, the boss Castiel hadn't been able to stop thinking about for days had him _pinned_ to the icebox, after his silent warning, after letting Castiel go free without a single uttered word. Castiel was here again, and now he was fair game.

The henchmen all laughed as they approached the two, but the boss held up one hand to stop them. They stood back, still leering at their leader with a kid trapped beneath him, staring up into the eyes of the crime boss he knew was not going to give him a second chance.

"Now, that's not true," the boss clicked his tongue, "Stuck here once, that's just bad luck. Stuck here twice? Now that's just _stupid_."

The henchmen looked confused but said nothing, and Richard was nowhere to be found. The steady articulation of every uttered syllable was a mocking jeer, a joke to Castiel's predicament that no one in their right mind would ever willingly fall into, idiotic or not.

Castiel became irrationally angry for a moment and glared at him before snapping out, "I'm not _stupid!_"

The boss's eyebrows arched slightly at the outburst, a moment of silence he took to register the verbal retaliation that Castiel immediately regretted, and the low chuckles from the men reminded Castiel strangely of high school when he was slammed against the science table by the quarterback, and the other jocks all huddled around to watch the scrawny kid get trounced. The deep, adolescent trauma of his high school years suddenly paralleling in young adulthood would have been hilarious if Castiel wasn't infinitesimally close to pissing his pants.

Even though he was afraid of what this man would do, much more likely to hurt him than the jocks and much more mature, and tangible, with a much more profound crime record, Castiel couldn't stop the pounding of blood in his veins making every one of his nerves come alive, making the hand fisting his shirt and bearing down on his chest feel like a lead weight and those numbing eyes freeze him to the spot. This was the answer he needed. This was what he desired to know, why he couldn't _sleep_ at night. The boss, whoever this man was, set his nerves and adrenaline ablaze so much his heart hammered in his chest as if he he'd been running for miles and he couldn't calm it back down. The beating of his heart and the vitality of his nerves made everything so acute and sharp, right to the press of every knuckle into the cotton of his shirt and into his hot skin. Before, the memory of how every nerve had jolted to life was enough to keep him awake; now right in front of him and _happening_ to him, he never felt more alive than when he was staring death straight in his steel grey eyes. It was terrifying, and astonishing. He didn't want it to stop. But he also didn't want to die.

The rush was nearly enough to make him dizzy, but he made sure his eyes remained trained on the boss, who still hadn't spoken a word for the longest few seconds of Castiel's life, and forced himself not to flinch when his brow relaxed from the slight crinkle and a grin finally split over those thin lips, showing off pearly white teeth that seemed utterly shark-like.

"My apologies," he purred out, "An honest mistake. I mean... it's not often you meet a kid coming to get in trouble for _kicks_."

"Wait, what? No, I'm not-" Castiel began to protest but the boss's free hand clamped over his jaw and his mouth, digging into the bone to silence him. He hushed Castiel's incoherent objection which made him glare right back at the boss, but he couldn't move an inch, even as he twitched vainly under his hands to get him to release his face. The boss was powerful, much stronger than he gave him credit for by how lithe and angular he appeared.

Despite being unable to respond Castiel yelled in his mind that this man was wrong. Castiel would have to be _sick_ to do this for kicks. It was a revelation, of course, that the adrenaline was spiking through him to make his nerves hot and come alive, but to get a kick out of this? To actually find a sense of pleasure in this brush with death? He was wrong. He had to be wrong. He… had to be wrong, right? Castiel couldn't mistake the heat inside him, the rush making him light headed but craving more. But it wasn't a kick. It couldn't possibly be.

"You so sure about that, kid?" It was like the man was in his thoughts now, prying them apart and forcing them into the open. Castiel felt his face burn slightly in anger, utterly silent with the hand still keeping his mouth shut.

He let go of his face and Castiel worked his jaw to get rid of the ache, but he didn't have time to snap out a retort. Because now that grin was getting wider; crueler and nastier and when the boss reached behind himself the soft clink of greased metal fractured the air, and then Castiel was met with the frighteningly cold muzzle of a gun. Oh, no.

"Wait...w-wait-"

Castiel stammered for any words of protest he could blindly grasp before the boss hushed him again and turned the gun upwards, digging the metal into the soft underside of his chin that forced a strangled whimper to escape Castiel's throat.

"This is what you came for, isn't it?" He whispered, each word a careful hiss that made the younger man petrified with fear again, the harsh muzzle grinding into his flesh more real than he ever wanted to experience. His heart was pounding so heavily it burned; his nerves felt like they were fraying apart. It was too much to handle. He wanted to feel the adrenaline again but nothing like this, nothing as real and frightening as _this_.

Castiel's perception narrowed and blurred away the other inhabitants of the store; it was just him and this unnamed criminal, his frosty hands immobilizing the younger as he trapped him against the harsh edge of the freezer. It was him and the gang leader's savage smile and the unforgiving edge of the muzzle of a gun.

Despite the icy dread trickling down his spine Castiel got the breath enough to speak. "You wouldn't d-dare," he managed to grit out, his eyes wide on the boss's.

The man's grin didn't even falter as he cocked back the safety on the gun, using the barrel to push the kid's chin up to get a better look at his face.

"Wouldn't I?"

"God, god! Okay, I get it don't- don't-" Castiel rushed out, his nails scratching against the metal of the icebox. It was cold, it was all so cold and he couldn't handle this, his felt like he was going to pass out.

But the boss clicked his tongue, humming almost soothingly. He leaned forward to whisper in the Castiel's ear.

"I can hear your heart from here, kid, and your face is all flushed. Don't tell me you're not here for the kicks."

"No!" Castiel gritted out, much less anger than before and more out of desperation. His face wasn't really flushed, was it? He couldn't help how hard his heart was working his blood, making him feel hot and cold all over all at once. He shivered when the boss spoke again, his cool breath tickling the short hairs curling around his ear.

"Mm, such an innocent little kid. Bet your cherry isn't even popped. Must be awful to die a virgin," the tone was just on the edge of teasing, even laced with the cruel, sardonic threat.

"I'm not-!" Castiel exclaimed, his face flushing darker at the implication, and the criminal chuckled into his hair, the sound like wind on a frozen day. The muzzle of the gun pressed up higher, digging its way into his skin like the gang leader was trying to force it up to his skull. The metal grey eyes unrelentingly scrutinized Castiel's every panicked writhe; the strong hand kept him constrained unforgivingly to the icebox and was all so overwhelming Castiel could hardly gather a tangible thought. All he knew was that he'd never _felt_ with so much of his being before. Everything in his body was alive; brought on by fear, neither his body nor his mind cared. The spectacular reaction of his body and mind had left him almost aching for the next move, so long as it wasn't the twitchy shift of a trigger finger.

Regardless of what Castiel was waiting fretfully for, nothing could have prepared him for the boss's next move.

With the comment lingering in the air the gang leader was getting closer, impossibly closer, and a knee slid between Castiel's legs where they were sprawled over the edge of the icebox and treading ground, a thigh settling right up against his groin. Castiel was too stunned to even yell or jerk away.

"I think I missed what you said. You're here for…?" The boss left the question open, but Castiel could only respond with a hitching gasp, his eyes simply widened in surprise at the unexpected touch.

It wasn't even on purpose; his nerves were too sensitive from the boss was doing, his heart pounding hot blood through his body unknowingly but the light brush between his legs made his flush increase over his cheeks and ears, the adrenaline obviously taking the form of something else as the front of his pants tightened near immediately at the friction of another man's thigh. It was unmistakable though, to both him and the boss, and the grin on the older man's face was very nearly demonic.

"That's what I thought," he purred, and then grabbed Castiel's chin, his thigh still firmly pressed against his twitching groin. Oh no, this was it. He was going to die now with a gun to his face and the most embarrassing bodily reaction that could have happened—he might have even taken pissing his pants over this—but he couldn't even tear his eyes away. If he was going to die, he was going to look at the damnable man that did it.

Castiel waited, his teeth clenched tightly together and waiting for the end. But five seconds… ten seconds went by. The boss's gaze never left his, eyes that were almost flickering with glee before now hardened into something Castiel couldn't place. The smirk on the boss's face faded almost imperceptibly, and then he let go.

Castiel gasped spasmodically for breath he hadn't realized he was holding, collapsing to the ground and clutching his heart like if he didn't hold on it would stop without his consent.

"Come on boys, we're done," the criminal ordered suddenly, waving his gun for the henchmen to file out, and then slipped it back under into the waistband of his slacks. The henchman cast quick, perplexed glances at each other, their eyes darting silently before the boss just looked at them, arching an eyebrow that had them tripping over themselves to run out the door. He sauntered off after them, his hands slipped into his pockets as he hummed softly, and then looked back at Castiel. Castiel was shaking like a leaf, still flushed and distressingly hard on the floor, and so utterly _confused_. The boss chuckled, his ever present smirk already plastered back on his face.

"You're cute, kid. See you around."

And with that, he was gone. Castiel didn't know what to even think.

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A/n: Hope you're enjoying, guys :)


	4. Chapter 4

_Foreword:_

_**VERY**** IMPORTANT MESSAGE:**_

_****__Chapter_ 1, 2, 3, and 4 have received major changes to the plot line in order to keep with continuity. The plot line as posted has not changed.

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**Chapter 4**

It was Thursday now, and Castiel still maintained absolutely no clear thoughts on what had occurred in that convenience store just a few days prior. It had been one full week since the nightmare began. One week and Castiel felt as though his world had been flipped on its side.

On one hand, every time he thought about what had happened, remembered the cold press of the gun his hands would start to shake and Castiel would have to take a few intermittent breaths to calm and remind himself that he was still alive, that he'd escaped without so much as a physical scratch.

Part of him scolded himself for the blatant _stupidity_ of the circumstances. He should have taken the chance to run when it was open. Even if staying behind did answer his question, they were not answers he was looking for and all it did was open more inquiries he was much too terrified to seek answers to.

Part of him was proud he hadn't broken down into a sniveling mess. Part of him really _hated_ that the criminal had done that to him while the other side was thankful he hadn't killed Castiel for eavesdropping, and that same part wondered why he hadn't killed him after all.

Part of him wanted to know the man's name.

That much was insane he knew, but in all reality... He remembered what the boss had said to him, that Castiel was there supposedly for kicks, for the danger. He said he was obliging Castiel. Maybe it had all been a game; some sick, twisted pastime to scare a stupid college boy, and that he hadn't planned on pulling that trigger.

Perhaps it was Castiel's way of coping, but it was his best guess as to why he was sitting in class today and not cooling on the floor of Richard's convenience store.

He also couldn't mistake how it made him feel. After the boss was gone, and Castiel was once again alone on that linoleum floor the adrenaline keeping him from passing out when the boss was there suddenly spiked through his blood like an endorphin rush, making him feel even more alive than the previous encounter. The blood pounding through his veins had given him another sensation, something he didn't even register until he was alone and in-tuned with every… _everything_ in his body. That much he refused to acknowledge; he didn't even want to think about it. It was a compromising situation he had no control over, his blood was racing so it wasn't his fault his body responded with-

Castiel shook his head, pointedly ignoring that reaction he'd had below the belt. It was a fluke. It was the high of euphoria he got afterward. For goodness's sake, he liked Dean! He had a very strong crush on his best friend and he couldn't get him out of his mind. Having a response like that was just… heat of the moment, as embarrassing as it was.

Aside from the traumatizing mortification of arousal, he still wanted to feel that rush again, that powerful sense of vitality, of truly being _alive_ for the first time in his life. That had nothing to do with his body. This was something his mind craved, in some twisted way and it was because of that man with his cold eyes and gun and the certainty of death.

Castiel would admit it; he was nuts. And he still wanted to know the name of the man who so easily held his life in his hands.

Considering the lack of stability in Castiel's mental state he couldn't particularly be faulted for skipping school the following day. What he did happen to overlook, was that he didn't have any classes with Dean again until the following Monday. Castiel might have taken into retrospect that leaving his friend in the dark after his dramatic exit was a poor choice, but he was simply too tired to say anything at all to him.

"Cas!?" Two hands slammed down on his desk that Thursday afternoon and Castiel just stared at him, not even flinching. He expected Dean to seek him out; his class was just the floor below so they often ran into each other afterwards. He never blatantly walked into class right after it had ended though. That looked desperate, and Dean wasn't a desperate man.

A sigh escaped the student's lips and he didn't remove his face where it was propped in his hand, "Dean, this isn't your class."

"Oh screw you, Cas. Are you _alright?_" Dean breathed out in a rush, "What the hell happened!?"

For a moment Castiel froze, his pencil stilling in the air where it had been bobbing idly between his lips. He swallowed and didn't look at Dean, working his brain frantically for a bull story to feed his friend.

"Nothing… nothing. I saw an obit with a friend's name. Had to check it out. Turns out it was her grandmother."

Castiel felt distinctly sick to his stomach, both from the fact he had just completely lied through his teeth to his friend for the first time, and that he had done it so easily. He never lied to Dean, not so blatantly; he never wanted to. He never had a reason to. Castiel swallowed hard and couldn't look him in the eye.

Dean let out an audible sigh of relief, and that just made Castiel feel worse.

"Man, don't do that! You freaked me out. You're crazy enough to go…"

Dean gestured randomly, a supposed attempt to describe what Castiel "did." Although worry was etched on Dean's face it didn't help Castiel's mood at all. He arched his eyebrows insensately.

"I'm crazy enough to what?" Castiel retorted dryly.

"I dunno, do something stupid or get yourself hurt."

Castiel clenched his teeth slightly, fiddling with his pencil and trying not to break it. He smiled a through his teeth at Dean though, as tight as the smile was, still trying to stay light hearted and on Dean's good side. "I thought I was a prude?"

"Well, a little, and that's why it's not like you to just run off! You're… smarter than that, come on."

Prude. Stupid. Dangerous. That was it. Castiel pushed away from the desk and stood up, gathering his things and shoving past Dean harshly. It was one thing to be ridiculed by strangers, but _not_ by Dean. He simply wasn't in the mood for it this week.

"Whoa, hey wait Cas!" Dean called for him but Castiel didn't wait for his friend; he didn't have the patience for him today. But Dean rushed ahead of him despite the rigidity in his frame and grabbed Castiel by his shoulders.

"Dude what's _wrong_?" He asked, giving Castiel a quick shake to get his attention. Castiel still wouldn't look at him though.

"I don't know Dean, I'm too _stupid_," Castiel spat and shoved past Dean again.

"What?" Dean looked genuinely confused, those big, beautiful green eyes staring right back at him. Castiel stared back, and then sighed deeply. The forgiveness came quicker than Castiel had time to register the thought; he could never stay mad at Dean, even when he desperately wanted to.

"Nothing, Dean. Just... long night," Castiel mumbled, and looked up with a kind smile, "How's Sam?"

Though Dean looked skeptical and a frown marred his features for a few seconds, he couldn't resist talking about his brother and the diversion worked as his friend slowly but surely settled into a rant about just how well Sam was doing in college. The kid was a regular politician it seemed, was looking into government and law.

They talked— more Dean talked and Castiel listened— all the way to the bus stop a few blocks down from the school. After the first few minutes, Dean now grumbling about a girl named Jess Sam had met and he worrying about it like any big brother would, Castiel let his mind begin to wander.

Maybe Dean was right, as well as that criminal. Okay not the criminal but Castiel always listened to Dean. He didn't do stupid things, certainly nothing as dramatic as running out of a building from reading a newspaper; so perhaps that actually was the root of his problem. Maybe that was all it was. Castiel needed something exciting in his life, something remotely entertaining, even. Castiel was gagging for something to _do_ that made his blood rush and made him dizzy, just for a little while. He craved a change and in order to get the attention his starved adrenaline needed, it had meant eavesdropping on a gang and, subsequently, being threatened with a gun.

That was all it had been. He just needed a rush, anything, and his mind latched onto the first thing it found. But that was easily remedied. All he needed was something daring to try that wasn't going to bankrupt him or kill him. Enough with the crime fiasco, it was an idiotic mistake and he'd never do it again. He wasn't going to let this bite him in the ass.

"Dean," Castiel piped in and Dean stumbled over the next few words coming out of his mouth. Castiel frowned; he really needed to pay attention.

"What's up?" Dean asked, looking at Castiel with eyebrows arched curiously, and now Castiel smiled.

"You go rock climbing, don't you? Next time you go, count me in."

Dean often regaled Castiel with stories about the rush he got when he climbed, the pure waves of adrenaline from being protected by only a flimsy harness and his own grip, and his friend had been asking for Castiel to go for a while now. Castiel had continually made the excuse that they were both too busy; they both worked every single hour they weren't in school, and it was rare they got the breather. But now, Castiel needed a rush, and it was the least stupid thing he could think of to get that feeling back. He would prove he could get a rush from unhazardous means. Or well, less hazardous; Dean didn't exactly make rock climbing sound like a walk in the park.

At first Dean blinked in surprise, but then a huge grin split across his face and he clapped Castiel heavily on the shoulder.

"Hell, of course! You free Saturday?"

Castiel frowned and thought about his work schedule. He usually worked open to close at the coffee house Saturdays, but he figured he put in enough time, and filled in for so many others he could get someone to cover for him this once.

"Yeah. Yeah, I gotta go to work at four though, so I'll meet you there at uh. Ten? Is that sufficient?" Castiel asked, his head tilting slightly as he waited for Dean's answer.

Dean was practically beaming at the thought of Castiel joining him, "Great! And to mark the occasion, I'm paying."

"Oh, you don't have to-..." Castiel stumbled out before the rest of his conscience could tell him he barely had enough money for food until that Saturday.

"Nah, my treat. See you then!"

The bus had come and now Dean hopped on with a small wave to Castiel. He waved back, a gentle smile on his lips. Things were going to work out, he was sure. He could finally, resolutely, put this entire nightmare behind him.

He was late for work. Crap. Castiel hurried down the street towards the coffee shop. Just another typical day.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Changes have been added to this chapter plot-wise. Nothing so major that is changes the course of the story, but it does help with the course of the story it's already on. Hope you guys enjoy.**  
_

_Foreword: I hope I'm not writing this for nothing. Thank you those who have alerted and reviewed! You're fantastic_

_Warnings this chapter for **graphic violence, language, blood**  
_

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**Chapter 5**

Kids these days, it was _all_ the now now _now._ No patience, no gratification in the little things. Why, he wasn't yet mid-aged and he felt as though he was surrounded by _toddlers_.

"No, sweet cheeks, you don't get a cut that exorbitant up front. Greedy children can stay nice and happy with their cut of the profit or we'll take our business elsewhere. See if you keep any clients when your lady snow gets _piss_ in it."

He sighed when he heard the incoherent stammering of apologies and excuses from the other end and quietly clicked his phone shut, resting it against his forehead as he closed his eyes. First transgressions he forgave. If the underdogs decided to get ballsy again, then he got irritated. He pressed the intercom button and called for his secretary at the front desk.

"If the gentlemen from E block calls again, send out two men to get him a wheelchair and a nice big "R" on his chest."

"With pleasure, sir," the feminine slur came back, her voice almost giddy with delight. The boss arched an eyebrow just slightly at the sadistic glee that managed to follow his receptionist around like a creeping shadow. Meg Masters hadbeen his assistant since the dawn of his reign. She had certainly earned her place in the ranks, a founding member of the little to no group of females ready and willing to get their hands dirty. Although he knew some of their men snubbed their noses at something as a "ludicrous" as femininity, they would need a death sentence hanging over their heads to question his choice of assistant. He'd taught her well.

"Oh and, uhm…" Meg started, the quieting of her voice such a sharp contrast it already put the boss on edge for bad news. He could almost hear her fidgeting hands on paperwork.

"Two more guys switched over to the Hellhounds, sir."

Meg immediately went quiet as soon as the words were out of her mouth like a curse; the boss closed his eyes and counted steadily back from ten. So that was it. Well then, it seemed preventive measures had to be taken now.

"…Fine," the gang leader finally replied, his words clipped, "Arrange to have a chat with their boss, then."

The line crackled with a stuttered, "Sir-"

"Promise the fop tea and biscuits if you must," he hissed and snapped the intercom off, his patience gone on the subject. He shoved the phone away, glaring daggers into the back wall as he twirled a pen between his fingers in an effort to fend off the tension hackling his shoulders. He wasn't a young man anymore, but he certainly wasn't _old_. He knew enough in his years on how to maintain a cordial chat with an opposing leader, even if it was the Hellhounds scoundrel. He was also young enough to handle it if shit decided to hit the fan.

After he had been "given" power by his old predecessor, and eon ago it seemed now, no one disputed his placement. A decidedly controversial boss in his gang was a figure everyone knew the face of but no one dared utter the name. He quickly earned various titles –some old, some quite new—by those too chicken to utter his real alias. Real names meant trouble, and attachments the boss no longer had time to waste on. Those who found out who he was quickly had an interview as to just how they learned. He had a certain knack for acquiring information by any means that suited his fancy.

He smirked despite himself, easing back into his chair as he drummed his fingers idly over one pronounced bicep, the prominent veins jumping over the silver tattoo where it curled brightly under the skin. It was such a long time ago now that few even remembered the boss before him. A pity, certainly; he had been the true leader worthy of this city, but a successor was needed and the boss had been the only one remotely suited for the job. For several dismally scant years after his rise no one dared to go nose to nose with the new leader. But the honeymoon period never lasted long and the Hellhounds leader, darling little _Red-Eyes_, clawed his way up the ranks. Now the boss had a big nuisance nipping at his heels.

So even though the transfer of power had been less than ideal the boss was feared, of _course_, and respected; but already there was dissent in the ranks. Some were calling him "old-fashioned" and too "physical" with his methods. Somehow there was still a dispute over whether his ring was a dying breed. Those rare specimens tended to receive a permanent, underground assignment or ran with their tails between their legs to pettier gangs. He would show them though. Nothing would stop him from achieving his plans.

Peachy, now he was annoyed and it was barely past noon. He had skipped lunch again, too busy with phone calls and arranging the next transport of goods. Business certainly had a way of reaching deep down and intimately yanking his patience out through his guts. Time to let off some steam, then.

The boss sighed and stood, straightening all of his paperwork scrupulously before he left for a recreational reprieve. After his papers were in a precise row with his pens, name plate, and lamp he opened up the bottom drawer of his sleek black desk with a thin key, and delicately pulled out a blade sheathed in black. He admired the glistening cover for a moment, the front plated with a pair of onyx feathers, before sliding it into his inner jacket pocket. It was always a pleasant weight of reassurance on him, a warm remembrance of what he had done to get here. He never went anywhere, work, home, or otherwise, without the thing.

Another press to the intercom crackled the airwave and the boss stated, "Going on a rendezvous. Cancel the man who was meant to go to floor five."

There was a pause, and unspoken question of whether he was serious or not but Meg knew better, and replied, "Of course, sir. Have fun."

He snapped it off barely before she finished speaking and meandered towards the double doors of his office, whistling a brief tune under his breath. As almost an afterthought he made a slight detour to one of the large display shelves in the room, he sifted through the rack of tools he owned—swords, staffs, rackets, bats—and picked up one of the golf clubs. Despite himself he smirked, weighing the heavy metal club in his hand and giving it one swing. He always knew it had been an advantageous idea to take up the sport. Always got his mind off things.

As the boss left his office and walked leisurely down the hall, each and every one of his staff quickly cast their gaze downward and stopped in their tracks, paralyzed until their leader passed them by with only the barest smirk of amusement. Some of the less weak-kneed rookies gave him nods of respect, an almost silent "sir" or "boss" under their breath as to not distract their leader from his duties.

The elevator ride up to the fifth floor was short, and the doors opened up directly into the low, but wide single floor suite, where the boss conducted his business dealings. The walls were nothing but glass along the northern side, an arch of fine steel and barricaded triangles of window that circled around the room to let in a healthy stream of light. Sitting in one of the black leather chairs was a shrimp of a man, more of a child than anything else with big, blue, wet eyes and a mop of dark brown hair he kept smoothing back with the slick sweat from his palms.

Oddly enough, it reminded the boss of the inconsiderable kid he'd made squeak and shake in that inconsequential store a week or so ago, those huge sapphire eyes and a trembling, ashen little body just oozing fear and resignation to the fates. No… that resignation was only in this shrimp, now frozen with the fear of knowing he was a mouse pinned by a hungry lion. That other boy, the ratty kid with jailbait eyes and a cocksucker mouth had been paralyzed by shock, but he still had bite in him, even with a gun pressed to his face. That kid had been intriguing, and entertaining with the flush on his cheeks and heat in his strangely familiar eyes. This man was not in any way amusing.

This man, as unremarkable as he was, was the leader of his pack of smugglers for northern Africa and India; not that he'd survive a day in those lands, much less on a plane, but he made sure that after customs was done he could get it back through the city and distributed where he needed. This man had somehow lost two big kegs worth of saw-scaled and chain. He had every right to be sitting there jumping like a field mouse and now wringing that ugly hat in his hands with his still-sweating palms.

The boss walked over to the counter adjacent to the boy in the chair and leaned against it, flipping the end of his golf club up and examining the toe and the sole for any kinks or dents. The gang leader made no indication he even acknowledged the boy's presence, not rewarding him a glance even as his legs jigged and twitched like a caffeine junkie from the corner of his eye. He idly picked off a piece of dirt and flicked it across the room, then after rubbing his fingers together distastefully to remove the grime he went back to idly turning the club.

"You play golf, son?" The boss drawled disinterestedly, and the mouse of a man flinched in the corner of his eye.

"What? Oh…n-no sir, I d-don't," he chittered out, his voice a strangled knot.

"Hm. Shame. Really gets the mind off things. Surely you know the rules?"

"A l-little, sir…"

The man sounded perplexed but cautious, very clearly watching his words. The boss wasn't stupid; he could detect every nuance in the tone of voice and change of face; he'd always been able to catch a liar, and an ass kisser.

"Good. Tell me," the boss said softly, the command sharpening his words enough to make the man jump as he spoke.

"You…s-score by getting the, the ball in the h-hole. The less s-strikes it takes, the…" He gulped, "The better the score."

"Very good," the boss smiled then, and straightened up. He walked over to the man, close enough to stare down his nose at him, and then dropped his hands down to the armrests so he could look the whelp in the eye, the long edge of metal digging into the boy's boney arms and ribs. The sorry son of a bitch couldn't look back, blue eyes darting down and rapidly about, everywhere except the boss's face.

"At least you know _something_. Now, tell me where my _import_ is."

"I…I d-don't _know_ sir, it…it w-was in the w-warehouse for t-transport, b-b-but-"

"What? But what, do tell me," the boss drawled, "I'm just dying to know."

His lip quivered and he gulped again, "I'm so sorry sir, I'm sorry it's just g-g-_gone_. P-probably washed away. You know we had that rain s-storm the other night."

The boss stared at him for a few more moments, and then sighed and stood back upright. He examined the golf club again, turning to hold it firmly in his two hands, and struck the club hard into the side of the boy's head. An ear splitting shriek echoed through the room as blood gushed from the boy's torn ear, collapsing to the floor from the hit.

"Wrong answer, k-kid," he mocked, and slashed the club down hard into his back. When the boy lurched forward with a pitiful wheeze of barely caught breath he flipped the club and swung it viciously into his chest, forcing him to lurch back like a puppet on a string. He couldn't hear anything other than the grunts of agony and howls for mercy, but he knew he was breaking ribs, his collarbone shattered on one deformed side under his shirt, and more than likely one or two of the discs were ruptured in his back. Maybe. It was difficult to assess the damage when the kid _screamed_ so much. He probably cried when he stubbed his toe.

The boss took his time on the kid, switching elegantly back and forth with the malicious swings to make the boy jerk forward and back like a whimsical, seizing marionette, the boss holding back just enough as to not cause the boy's organs to start hemorrhaging. After he was satisfied, panting softly from the excursion the boss stopped, wiping his brow slightly and adjusting his tie. Blood leaked from the corners of the bastard's mouth and dribbled to the floor, leaking wet, steady plops on the carpet as well as sporadic, bright red sprays when he coughed out the mouthfuls.

"Mm." The gang leader sighed, "Certainly not on par yet. I'll just have to practice."

He flipped the head of the club around to catch under the sobbing whelp's chin and jerked up, forcing him to finally look the boss in the eye.

"If you're going to lie, do have the brains next time to think of at least a half-assed story. Oh, and you better find where my import was dumped to, kid, and come up with a very good excuse who you sold it to for more. Because if anyone else gets those kegs? I'll use you for practice again."

The kid miraculously managed to nod and sob out a choked, gurgling, "Y-yes sir. So sorry," before the boss let him go, using the stick to push the boy into lying fetal position on the floor.

"Keep your head turned," he stated, "Nothing worse than choking on your own blood."

The pitiful sap actually whined and nodded, and the boss walked over to the intercom by the elevators to call down to his secretary, and get his doctor upstairs. Maybe the kid would need a hospital, maybe he would die. The boss didn't particularly care since, after the little bastard got his export back, he wasn't sticking around long enough to "lose" a shipment ever again. So while the sap was sobbing in agony now, he had been careful with his blows. He knew the intricacies of the body; knew where to hit where it hurt the most and wouldn't kill. He'd gotten pretty good in his years.

The gang leader rolled his neck and once again started humming softly to himself as he swung the club like a pendulum. He'd rather needed that; he was nice and relaxed now, at ease with himself. And he couldn't help but appreciate those big, blue eyes looking up at him in terror, just like that suicidal kid with sapphire blue eyes from the other day. That kid from the shop was a pretty one, too, and very _definitely_ flaming. Straight boys didn't typically get a boner from a crime boss rubbing against them in the dirty way.

The boss chuckled to himself, pulling out a handkerchief from his inner pocket to start cleaning the bloodied club in his hands. The more he thought about it, the more he didn't regret shooting the kid point blank. He had been prepared to, his finger just a hair away from tensing and watching his glistening blood spill over his blown-up face. But he hadn't, and now he rather hoped he encountered the maniac again, if only to figure out what reaction he could pull out of that slender, trembling frame again. The way his heart fluttered under his fist was divine, and he hoped to feel that thundering pulse again. Maybe he'd make the kid pass out, or perhaps even soil himself next time.

It wasn't often the gang leader thought so heavily on a random street urchin, but this kid was… different. He was endearing in a way the boss had never encountered. Quick to learn his place, but feisty enough not to like it, or accept it readily. He was intriguing, and the boss liked intriguing. Besides, Meg had been regularly telling him to get more of a social life. What better way than to terrorize a kid that practically begged to have it coming? It was all in good fun; the kid wouldn't dare report him, not after he'd witnessed a crime twice. The cops might be awfully curious as to why he never said anything _before_. Yes, it seemed like a splendid idea. Just some honest, quick entertainment with a stupid kid to get him by for a while, that didn't involve medical bills. And perhaps take in those huge, sapphire blue eyes again.

Sapphire eyes. That, above all else, was that halted his shot. The boss wasn't a particularly sentimental man by any stretch of the imagination, but he remembered eyes that shade of blue. He never thought he'd regard eyes like that again, but those sapphires matched with a fiery, irritatingly stubborn personality were so terribly familiar it was not something he could snuff out lightly. He needed to know more. He wanted to know more. It was just enough to stop his trigger finger; for now.

But first he had work to do. A gang leader's job was never done, after all.

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_A/n: Favorites, Alerts, comments, questions, concerns are all greatly appreciated._


	6. Chapter 6

_Foreword: New chapter! Enjoy, please, I write it for you guys._

_Warnings this chapter dangerous situations, language._

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**Chapter 6**

"Okay, the quick slip is just to-"

"Dean."

"Make sure your harness is tight-"

"Dean."

"Cas, come on, tighten your harness, you gotta-"

"_Dean!_" Castiel exclaimed indignantly, but the hands that clasped over Dean's to push him away were considerate and soft as he held them slightly back. Dean stared at their joined hands for a moment and let go, flustering quickly to fix his own harness. Castiel felt a warm glow on his cheeks but quickly shook away the disillusionment. Castiel tugged slightly on the straps constricting his lungs and wiggled himself free enough so he could physically breathe again. At that Dean frowned and his friend once again tightened the straps until Castiel wheezed.

"Dean, I'll be fine," Castiel said breathlessly, and when Dean looked up he added teasingly so he could shift the straps just loose enough for oxygen again, "You have spent the last half hour coaching me on this. I am safe. I've got you watching me."

Dean looked skeptical, worry creasing his brow before he shrugged it off and tried to look unperturbed.

"Yeah, well," he grumbled, "Never can be too careful."

While Dean had been practically begging Castiel to join him on his climbs for weeks, the moment they walked through the door his best friend hadn't stopped fretting over him. Castiel bit his tongue on the over-zealous, almost matronly concern, knowing Dean would probably chicken out if he realized how he was acting and the last thing Castiel wanted was Dean to stop. It was sweet, really. It made Castiel ridiculously delighted that Dean even cared so much.

"Dean?" Castiel prompted gently, tilting his head slightly at Dean's resolve not to look Castiel in the eye. Finally, he did look up, all fluster gone with his bright, pearly white grin.

"Good to go?" Dean asked, and even with his previous fretting and Castiel couldn't help smiling back.

"Yeah, come on," Castiel chuckled, walking into the room where the climbing wall was situated. He doubted all of the hustle and bustle was necessary. It was an indoor climb, he probably wasn't even going to _feel_ a spark like that icy gun-

Castiel's eyes widened as he took in the very wide, and very _tall_ climbing wall that dominated nearly three corners of the room, only a tiny portion sectioned off into a service center with cubby holes to store bags and personal items. The wall was at least thirty feet tall, with various edges tapering inward, outward, and jutting off like an actual rock face if not for the multicolored hand-holds all along its face.

"…Oh."

Dean looked back at Castiel with the hugest shit-eating grin, and grabbed Castiel by his harness to drag him forward.

"Come on, don't chicken on me now," he laughed. Castiel was still staring at the wall with big eyes, not fully registering that Dean was pulling him closer to the fake rock face. He would give Dean this one; he had vastly underestimated what he expected to find. This was a colossus of a climb, the seemingly fragile ropes that he inspected hanging limply from where they attached at the ceiling were soon to be hooked to his decidedly heavy body, his hands the only thing to keep him holding on, so very high up. It was dangerous, and ludicrous why anyone would risk their mortal bodies like this.

It was perfect.

"Hey, you okay?" Dean asked, worry in his voice now that Castiel hadn't responded. But Castiel looked down, and smiled at Dean widely.

"Let's do this."

Dean blinked a little, clearly not expecting the enthusiasm and his good mood immediately came back, getting behind Castiel to push him towards the left side of the wall. Castiel laughed and willingly followed the pushing, even with the tightening in his gut curling tighter with each step.

"Had me worried, I thought you were scared," Dean chuckled behind him, making the other shiver slightly from the sound of his melodic voice.

Castiel swallowed hard and looked back up at the all; he _was_ scared, at least a little bit. He was worried he wouldn't be able to do it, that he would fall and the rope wouldn't hold him—but that was the danger of it, and that made it _perfect_.

Once they made it to the one side, Castiel looked at the numerous protrusions, and then cast his gaze down the wall. Further down the rungs became fewer and fewer. He tilted his head and Dean must have sensed the question or was one step ahead of him.

"Okay, this is the level one block," he explained, "It's the easiest, and since it's your first time you better try this one first."

Castiel frowned at that, eyeing the rope now in Dean's hand and muttered, "I don't need the kid zone, Dean."

"Hey, it's _not_," Dean protested, "You gotta start small. It's harder than it looks."

"I'll be _fin_e." He kept his voice steady to hide the bristling.

"Are you nuts?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes and just stared Dean down. Dean stared back, trying to hold his gaze as his brow creased slightly, and then he sighed.

"Fine, come on, you lunatic. Level three isn't so bad. But I started at level one, too you know."

It was light and meant to be teasing Castiel knew, but he ignored him anyway. Dean said he'd been rock climbing for years; of course he started at level one when he was _younger._ Castiel wasn't a child, and he wasn't refused to look like one here of all places. He wasn't crazy and he was tired of Dean calling him so, as well as too stupid to make his appropriate choices.

When they stopped in front of the "level 3" zone, it was definitely different; the hand holds were much sparser and spread out, and the wall went up higher. Castiel smiled.

"Great, you're happy, crazy man. Come on let's get you hooked up," Dean groused, obviously displeased with his friend's choice. Castiel didn't care though. He needed this rush a challenge would give him, along with the formidable height and frail rope.

Dean helped him get attached to the safety line, and then tested it a dozen times to make sure it was secure and had no possible way of detaching from Castiel. Finally Castiel batted him away gently and told him he would be fine on his own. But Dean settled into the level four zone, right next to Cas, and gave him a cheeky smile and a wink.

"Not leaving you to fall by yourself, man."

Castiel resisted the urge to stick out his tongue and just rolled his eyes, but waited to watch Dean start to climb first. It wasn't like he didn't know how to climb, he just…learned better from observation. Of course. Once Castiel memorized the technique for what it was worth—mostly consisting of Dean shimmying his ass a little too much for Castiel to pay attention to where he placed his hands and feet—and took in the technique Dean was using to climb with, Castiel felt comfortable enough to do it himself.

When Castiel hoisted up to the pieces of multicolored in both hands, and then rested his feet on two, he got stuck. Alright, this was much harder than it looked. Castiel wiggled a little bit to try to find another hand hold, but it was _just_ too out of reach for him and he ended up losing his balance and plopping gracelessly back to the matted floor. The sharp sting into his backside took away his pride for a hot minute, not aided at all by when he looked up to see Dean staring back, biting his lip on a grin that was more than likely a snicker that Castiel couldn't hear. He glared and Dean immediately looked away, working his way up at an unhurried pace; obviously waiting for Castiel.

The boy shook his head to clear it of the doubts he had about himself. With his now wounded dignity, he flat out refused to let Dean see him as any more of a loser at this; Dean already saw him as a fragile flower to be protected, if only by his quiet voice and willingness to do whatever Dean wanted. Usually Castiel could handle his friend's anxious avocation, if only because he found it rather charming, but lately Dean had been more avid in his protection, and more prone to treating Castiel like he wasn't a twenty-two year old grown man with his own job and apartment but rather, well, like a naïve little kid that he'd been treated like his whole life. Even by a complete stranger who stuck the muzzle of a gun to his face.

Castiel was tired of this; he despised the very idea of Dean or anyone for that matter seeing him as weak, or incompetent in one more thing in his life. He wanted to prove Dean wrong. If there was one action he would do without miserably failing, Castiel was going to fucking _climb._

This time when Castiel hoisted himself up, he managed to get his foot on another grip, and grabbed the hand hold higher up. And then he grabbed another one, but he didn't grab a third because he lost his footing and plummeted again. The fall was farther this time, much farther and Castiel gasped in shock at the sudden lurch in his stomach up towards his throat. His breath caught and he couldn't breathe as he crashed, squeezing his eyes shut for the inevitable slam into the mat, but the rope caught him and eased the fall. It no less hurt and his knees screamed in pain when he crashed down, his heart was hammering in his chest from the instinctive reaction that _falling_ meant _dying_.

It was almost…_almost_ the same as the gun; the fear, the sudden twist in his gut. He felt his hands shaking and clenched them into fists, and sighed deliberately to control his breath. He looked back up, and attempted the climb again. This time, he didn't fall. Castiel kept going up. Every muscle screamed in protest that told the poor college student he _really_ needed to lay off the dollar-store soda and chips, but he forced himself to keep climbing each other those rungs and protrusions of fake rock. Once he was half way, he stopped to catch his breath, and looked up to where Dean was.

Thankfully his friend hadn't noticed him fall that second time, but he was looking now, his eyes wide in surprise. Dean smiled faintly, but then really looked at the one below him. Castiel knew his face was streaked with sweat, hair matted down by the dampness and he getting tired.

"You don't have to keep going!" Dean shouted down, and the other frowned. No, he needed to keep going. He was going to prove he could do this.

Castiel shook his head and looked down, and then his eyes widened. Oh, that was… he was very high up. He was extremely high up now, and it was only _him_ keeping him from plummeting back to that distance. His heart leapt up to his throat and the adrenaline making his blood run hot made itself known again, pounding through his body so hard he could feel his pulse fluttering in his throat. He swallowed hard and looked forward again, taking deep breaths. This was terrifying. He could _fall_, and if the rope didn't catch he could seriously hurt himself, he could but… god, that's what made him want to push farther. This was amazing, exhilarating, and wonderful. That idea of death so close just made him feel more alive, because right now, he was living. Living only existed if it was mocking death; that he was _just_ on the edge of dangerous that made him realize how fragile life was.

He realized just how much he loved this, knowing that the rope was supposed to save him if he fell but that possible death still lingering on the surface. He was so high up, nothing holding him back and he could spot each and every one of the people below him.

He felt like he was flying. He'd never felt more alive.

Castiel kept pushing then, kept on climbing as every muscle ached In his body and his heart kept pounding him full of adrenaline that made him dizzy on the endorphin rush. It made him feel so good, so high and light he was grinning as he took one more step, one more hand hold, another step, another hold, and then he saw the top, the buzzer that signified he had made it. Another hold, another step, and then it was there. Castiel smiled and hit the buzzer, sending off a splitting alarm and a whoop of cheers from the bottom.

"Holy shit. You did it. I thought you were nuts but you _did_ it," came the breathless reply next to him, and the boy looked around to Dean, his eyes wide and a faint smile of surprise and pride on his face. Castiel just kept looking back, and then laughed. He was delirious with adrenaline, feeling like he was soaring on big white wings and he closed his eyes, leaning back and whooping once. Dean joined him in the laughter, smiling at his friend.

"Okay, man, now we gotta get back down. It's gonna be hard, since you have to retrace your steps. Some people just let go and let the harness drag them down with him, but they don't like when people do that cause it's dangerous-"

Castiel wasn't listening to him now. He felt so high he could do anything, and the word dangerous was all he needed. Being guided back down by the harness? That would be even more like flying, and Castiel wanted to feel that shock like last time he dropped, that sharp, almost panic right before the harness caught him.

Castiel let go.

Dean shouted his name in panic.

And Castiel was falling. He was falling much faster than the rope should allow to, it should have caught him by now. Shouldn't it have? Castiel's eyes snapped open wide when he realized the rope wasn't catching him, that he was plummeting fast and his heart was hammering away in his chest, panicking along with him and his throat became so tight he couldn't even scream. This was it, he was going to die he was so _stupid-_

Halfway down the safety rope caught him like it was nothing, and lowered him easily and safely to the ground. The rest of the fall was…serene. There was so much time that Castiel was able to gulp down a breath to keep back a heart attack, and level himself so that his feet hit the ground when he touched the mats. He stumbled slightly before steadying himself and he breathed shakily. He hardly heard the clapping of a few people at his endeavors as a beginner, and quietly unhooked himself with trembling hands from the clasp.

His heart was still pounding. It had been stupid, dangerous, wrong but… Castiel loved every second of that fall. It was exhilarating, it made him feel alive of course, but he couldn't figure out why it felt wrong. It hadn't been the same as the climb; the climb felt real to him, yet the falling did not. He didn't understand what the difference was.

Castiel supposed Dean worked himself down halfway and then fell the rest of the way, because sooner than Castiel anticipated large hands were grabbing his shoulders and shaking him roughly.

"Cas, what's _wrong_ with you? You could have been hurt!" Dean exclaimed, his eyebrows drawn together in anger but he could see the panic behind his eyes. Castiel ignored him, and Dean's eyes narrowed.

"Are you really that stupid? What _was_ this, man? Why the hell didn't you _listen_ to me!?" Dean shook him again and this time Castiel shoved his hands off of him, pushing Dean away and stalking off. He fidgeted with the harness and pulled and yanked until it was free enough to detangle from his body, throwing it back at Dean without a word. Dean sputtered incoherently for a second and then followed.

"The hell Cas, are you _leaving?_"

"Yes."

"Dammit, stop being such a child! Own up to your-"

Castiel reeled on Dean and jabbed his finger into his friend's chest. "You call me stupid one more time, Winchester, and I swear-"

"What, you're gonna hit me? You're such an ass you can't admit you were wrong?"

Castiel's hands balled so tight he could feel his nails cutting the skin, but he didn't raise his fist like he desperately wanted to.

"I was fine, Dean," Castiel seethed, "Nothing happened, because nothing was _going_ to happen. Perhaps _you_ should trust me enough."

Dean looked taken aback but he wasn't going to back down from the fight, "Yeah, and why should I when you do boneheaded things like fall from thirty feet and threaten to stake out gangs?"

"Because I don't need you to pamper me! I'm not a child! I'm _older_ than you, and I-"

Castiel grit his teeth and pursed his lips, silently fuming. He couldn't look at Dean right now. Fine, maybe he was a little wrong, but Dean didn't need to rub it in his face every chance he got. Instead of snapping that to Dean and maybe then some, he turned away, looking down at the floor.

"Thank you for the time, Dean, but now I need to get to work."

Dean didn't say anything to him, so Castiel left without a word.

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_A/n:_ _All comments and criticism are appreciated._


	7. Chapter 7

_Foreward: Still writing this! For my friend milarrrrr, who is brilliant and lovely and an inspiration to me. _**  
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**Chapter 7**

Castiel was incensed. It wasn't fair. Dean never understood what he wanted, what he needed. Sure, his heart was in the right place but Castiel didn't need someone to baby him. He needed the opposite. He needed someone that wasn't afraid to test his limits, make him feel dangerous and most of all, get him _out_ of the monotonous loop his life had become. He lived week by week on a small amount of left over change he got after paying his loans, rent, and bills. He couldn't pay for heating, or air conditioning. He walked to school every day because he sold his car, and his bike. And Dean didn't notice. No one noticed, because he wore a smile every day and said he was perfectly fine. He wanted someone to notice, and yank him out of it. But he didn't want pity. He knew that if he told Dean he would get that unwanted sympathy, and guilt, and Castiel couldn't live with himself if he made Dean feel that way.

No, he didn't want pity. He just wanted a _change_. Something that made him feel different for once, made him feel like he was living, not just doing the same, ludicrous motions. Castiel realized he'd reached the point where that change was dangerous, that he didn't care. He didn't. If it was change, that was fine. It just needed to make him feel good, make his blood run wild when otherwise he felt too dull on the inside.

Castiel shook his head, making up his mind and only thinking of that _one_ thing so that he couldn't talk himself out of it. He had time before heading to work; he'd left Dean a full hour early, anyway.

Castiel rounded the corner and headed towards the convenience store he adamantly refrained from ever going near again. He vaguely listened to himself, it had been four days and he certainly meant to keep away, but now he had a reason to go, a good reason. He hoped, and again Castiel was couching himself through to keep from admitting what a terrible idea it was.

When he opened the door to the convenience store Richard looked up, and practically paled.

"H-hey, look kid, you can't be here, I don't want you in my store-"

"Shut it. You're lucky I didn't call the cops on you," Castiel muttered, and then sighed, "I don't want trouble."

"Then why did you come back!" He spat, his face already glowing red with anxiety. Castiel narrowed his eyes and walked up to the counter.

"Look, I just wanna know who that was. The… boss guy." The words tasted funny on Castiel's tongue, and even as they came out sure and steady, his mind finally broke through and said what a _horrible_ idea this was.

The manager seemed to agree, because his eyes bugged slightly out of their sockets and he sputtered out, "Why? Why do you _want_ to know, are you crazy kid?"

Castiel was starting to hate being called crazy. He licked his lip and sighed to himself.

"Yeah, well maybe I am. Just tell me. A name, that's all."

When Richard was silent Castiel creased his brow, "Please?"

The manager sighed, and gulped nervously, loosening his clip-on tie slightly.

"L-….Look kid. I don't _know_. No one…no one does. He's j-just the boss. People outside of his…"

He looked around nervously and leaned in close; as if afraid someone would over hear them. Castiel obliged and leaned in so he could whisper.

"Outside of his ring, you know his well, family? He's called the Inquisitor. He's really fond of blood and guts man, and he can make you squeal on your own mother in ten minutes alone with him. You do not want to mess with him. Please let this lie and pray thanks to God every day he didn't blow your face off."

Castiel stayed still even when Richard pulled away, eyes widened slightly. Castiel swallowed hard again, taking in the details of the man Richard had given him, words that sounded like rumors to him. But when he remembered that man, recalled those chilling, emotionless eyes and that dark, shark-like sneer, the only time he showed emotion the glee had he when the muzzle of a gun made Castiel beg for mercy, Castiel knew it was true.

"The man's a monster," Richard added quietly, "That good enough?"

Castiel swallowed hard again, and straightened. "Y-yeah. Yeah, thank you sir. "

"Now get outta here. I don't know if he'll be by again, but you don't want to tempt him if he comes. Just…go to work, kid. And please, be careful."

Those last words sounded strange to Castiel, but he was too shaken to really care. He nodded and headed back out the door, his angry gait slowed to a subdued trot.

Well, he hadn't expected the horror story to come from Richard but so much for a name; Castiel had wanted to find out more about that man, but without a name he was at a dead end.

Still, the boss or the Inquisitor, or whatever he was called hadn't looked like he was ready to kill him. Something in his gut told Castiel he didn't want to. Not then, at least. Castiel was sure if he tempted fate again, the last thing he'd hear was the loud bang of a bullet between his eyes.

Castiel shouldered the door open into the shop and was greeted with bright red hair and a brighter smile.

"Hey, welcome to Walk n Dunk, do you like your coffee black, white, or in-between?"

"…Hello Anna."

The red-headed girl beamed at him, shouldering him gently as he walked by her. When he didn't respond with his usual comment of how terribly worded their greeting was, Anna's face fell into worry.

"Hey, Castiel. You okay? You look down."

Castiel shrugged and gave a weak smile as he shrugged off his jacket and put on his work shirt. "I'm fine, Anna. Thank you for asking."

Anna frowned deeply, leaning against the counter to really look at him. "Boy trouble again?"

Castiel sucked in a breath too hard and he coughed a little, turning away from Anna so she wouldn't see his face as he hung up his jacket and put on his goofy, purple striped box hat. Well, there was Dean on one hand with their fight. And then there was the boss issue, and the feeling he couldn't shake that something was off with Richard.

"Y-yeah. Yeah, just…Dean and I had a fight."

"Oh, Cas…" Anna sighed behind him, and he heard the squeak of the panel being lifted so she could join him behind the counter. Castiel turned around and was pulled into a hug. The action made him startle, but he smiled gently, hugging her back.

"He'll come around. And when he does, you get to jump his bones. I'm telling you, he's fantastic in bed."

"_Anna_," he groaned, pushing her away and blushing slightly. He didn't need to be reminded his coworker got a taste of his crush and he never would. It wasn't exactly the best salve to put on his wounds.

Anna chuckled gently behind him, her voice light and airy. When she began singing rock songs as she brewed the coffee Castiel smiled and settled into his work. He hated the job, but it was easy enough, and he loved Anna's company. Sometimes he could be stuck with Chuck, who was fine to work with if he wasn't slightly neurotic from sneaking the free samples of espresso shots, or with Ruby who he simply wasn't fond of. But when he was with Anna he enjoyed his time here. She was pleasant, and his friend.

The customers late in the day were few and far between, nobody wanted the coffee until very late at night for all-night study sessions, so mostly Castiel sat and talked about boys, action movies, rock bands, history, and music with Anna. She was majoring in vocal music, Castiel in history. Sometimes they got into playful debates about who had the more pointless major.

He was three hours into the shift when he finally heard the door for another a customer, and Anna and he did a quick game of rock-paper-scissors to see who would deal with the customer. Castiel lost, and he sighed, standing up to face the man-

And froze to the spot. The color drained from Castiel's face as he peered up, up, up into the cold, unfeeling eyes of the boss from the weeks before, the deadly smirk already set on his lips. Castiel couldn't look away from his eyes, pinning him to the spot like a needle stuck on an insect's back.

"I thought the service industry was required to be literate," the man drawled as he crossed his arms. The smooth voice jolted Castiel out of his thoughts, but didn't loosen his tight throat at all as he squeaked, "W-what would you like o-order?"

The man arched an eyebrow, and Castiel choked out, "What would you like s-sir?"

He didn't know why that was right, but he supposed a man like this commanded authority and he visually relaxed the man's shoulders eased back, but the glint in his eyes remained.

"Make a short caramel drizzled macchiato with dark and white chocolate on the whipped cream, steamed milk only with two shots of espresso and a protein pump. Make that iced. Got it?"

Castiel wasn't sure words came out of his mouth, and from the corner of his eyes he could see that Anna had stood up, and was staring with the same wide eyes. Castiel nodded and fumbled to start making the drink. He ran through all the words in his head as much as he could, the smooth, silky purr glazing over the barbed wire that his voice was burning into his mind, but still he fumbled for the details. How many shots of espresso? Did he want dark or white chocolate? Oh god, he said both, how much he didn't ask for how many pumps, shit, only steamed milk they had steamed milk, didn't they?

Castiel could practically feel the smirk etching into his neck where the boss watched him and Castiel bit back a whimper of panic. Why was he here? How did the man know he worked here, how did he _know_ he was going to be here right now?

He finished the drink and set it down in front of the man, and steeled his shoulders back. He could deal with this. The man wouldn't kill him in front of so many witnesses, and Castiel had done nothing wrong this time. He looked the man back in the eye and forced a smile.

"Your drink, sir."

The boss looked down his nose at it, his arms crossed, and let his smirk widen into pure amusement. "I don't want that drivel."

Castiel just stared. He felt his hands shake a bit, and gurgled, "Then why did I _make_ it?"

"To see if you were competent enough at your job. Bonus points for you. Now, what I want is a black coffee, tall. Make it snappy."

The man was still smiling, and slowly it was grating on Castiel's nerves. His mouth twitched and he turned around, filling up a cup of coffee for him and resisting the urge to slam it down.

Castiel felt like his heart had stopped beating, started up again, and was now desperately trying to leave his chest from out his mouth. He was so on edge every bubble of the brewer was loud in his ears, every twitch in his fingers like a convulsion, and the eyes on him burned like a blistering summer day. He couldn't take this.

"Wh-why are you here?" He hissed, his voice weaker than he wanted it to be.

The boss shrugged slightly, "Can't fault a man for a caffeine addiction."

Castiel gritted his teeth, but swallowed hard anyway, "You know what I mean."

"Can't say I do."

This time the boy trembled, gripping the counter to keep still, "How do you know where I work?"

"Mm, the whale of an owner from that store is quite the screamer when he wants to be."

Castiel's eyes widened. That was why he felt strange. Richard had sounded off, been too edgy around him…and _fuck_ he was an idiot Richard had told him to go to work! But it didn't add up, Richard didn't even know his _name_.

"You're a liar," Castiel muttered before he could stop the words from coming out of his mouth. The man just paused, and tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly on the younger boy. Castiel felt like he'd signed a death sentence.

Thin, powerful fingers wrapped against the coffee mug as he sipped it lightly. "Don't use such big words to those you don't know, kid. I've given you far too many warnings."

Castiel knew he was visually shaking now, but still he feebly asked, "What do you want with me?"

"Your name would be nice, though your name _tag_ certainly cleared that up. Castiel. Cute."

Castiel frowned indignantly at being called cute. Once again he felt like he was being condescended. The boy shook his head though, and sighed shakily.

"F-Fine. _Why?_"

"Mm. That's really not your business," The boss almost cooed, lifting the cup to take another drink.

"It's not? You're stalking-" Castiel bit his tongue and flinched back, almost waiting for that gun to be drawn again. But the boss only chuckled.

"You started it," he purred sarcastically, and then sipped down the rest of the black coffee he'd been drinking. He set the cup gently down on the counter, left the payment with healthy tip, and turned away. The younger didn't have the guts to say anymore, not when the man had avoided his questions every single time and clearly refused to answer anything. And Castiel was now more confused than ever.

Castiel looked up to watch the man wave his hand once, and two men he hadn't even noticed standing in the shadows followed the boss out. Of course he wouldn't come alone. Castiel trembled slightly, wrapping him arms around himself as the boss and his henchmen left.

As soon as the door jangled shut Castiel's knees gave out just like last time, collapsing to the floor behind the counter. Anna exclaimed his name and quickly knelt down beside him, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and cupping his face.

"Whoa there, you're okay Cas, come on, you're okay. You _are_ okay? Do I need to call someone?"

Castiel choked on deep, rapid breaths, shaking his head quickly in refusal. He didn't need anyone. He just needed to breathe. The boss knew his name, and where he worked. He had gotten that information so _easily_ and he just…ordered a damn _coffee_ from him.

"I just…need to take a breather. I'm sorry."

"No, it's cool Cas. Sit in the back room, If anyone asks, you're taking stock."

"Thank you."

Castiel stood on weak knees and shuffled unsteadily into the back room, sitting on one of the large bags of coffee beans. He laid his head back against the wall and took deep breaths in attempt to calm himself. This was so messed up.

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_A/n: Reviews, comments, and critiques are all appreciated. _


	8. Chapter 8

_Foreword: Thank you guys so much for your kind words! This chapter is a little short, but I hope you enjoy._**  
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**_VERY IMPORTANT MESSAGE:_**

**_CHAPTER 1, 2, 3 AND 4 HAVE RECEIVED MAJOR CHANGES IN PLOT LINE TO MAINTAIN THE CONTINUITY. They are longer and, hopefully, much better written now._**

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**Chapter 8**

The Inquisitor hummed to himself as he stepped outside of the small shop, opening the door to his sleek black limousine and stepping inside. After he was in his two henchmen followed and the boss waved his hand for the driver to go, then crossed his arms, staring straight ahead where his two henchmen sat stiffly and at the ready.

Tracking down the kid had been easy footwork. Almost too easy, really, that the boss had nearly written the kid off. Since he was much too busy at work to look for the brat, but was intrigued nonetheless he decided to make a contest of sorts. He pulled two of his lesser ranked men aside to stop scrubbing out the bathrooms and gave them the opportunity for promotion if they had the smarts to find one random, worn looking boy with a penchant for trouble.

He didn't mean for it to excel past that, hadn't even wanted it to. But after his men went to talk to Richard, and found out the kid was a local college student, they then went on to the local colleges to find out who he was, what his class schedule was. Well… color him impressed by what they dug up. It seemed that a certain blue-eyed sweetheart had connections. The boss was so intrigued by the turn of events that was supposed to be simple information seize, he decided to arrange a visit to the kid himself.

His men went back to Richard and told him that if the kid came snooping not to tell him anything, and to send him on his merry way because the boss planned to pay him a visit one Thursday night. Richard, the sorry little sap, agreed.

The visit told the boss all he really needed. Where the kid worked, and the kid's name. Of course he knew his name; but he had to confirm it. Castiel. A name that had come up to the boss before but he paid no mind.

Now he had leverage. Now he could get one loose end nice and tied off. The boss chuckled to himself and eased back into the seat, closing his eyes. Funny how small of a world it was.

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Castiel called off work the next day, and stayed at home on his stained mattress and relatively un-stained sheets, just staring at the dilapidated ceiling of his apartment and _thinking_. How the hell the man found out where he worked, why that man was even _bothering_ with him to begin with. Whether he would be back. Castiel closed his eyes and swallowed past the lump in his throat. If the man kept showing up there, Castiel didn't know if he could go. But in such rough times he was lucky to _have_ that job. He doubted he could find another soon enough for the emotional trauma to be waived.

No, Castiel could handle this. It was just one measly man trying to put a scare on him. A scare that was working but nevertheless he refused to let it get the better of him. He had been shocked, was all. He never expected to see that man again but now that he knew he was coming he would be prepared.

Castiel's phone was vibrating on the floor next to him for the third time, another call he knew was from Dean. The entire time it rang Castiel weighed the pros and cons of it until the phone finally went silent. And then he was alone again. He couldn't keep dwelling on this. He needed to think of something else. Reluctantly Castiel picked up the phone and saw one message, three missed calls, and one voicemail. The message was from Dean, and simply said "Where r u?" which Castiel ignored, and instead he dialed to listen to the voicemail.

"_Clck- hey Cas it's me. Look uhm, I'm not sure what happened yesterday but uh, I want to apologize. I feel like an ass. I shouldn't have said all that. Can we put this behind us somehow? I hope you didn't miss today because of me. Though I-I hope you're not sick either of course but…God." _Castiel heard the dull rustle of the phone being pressed against Dean's head, a nervous habit he'd witnessed more than once. "_Hop_e _to see you Monday. Bye._"

The message clicked off and Castiel just stared at the phone for a long time, and then finally hit the delete button and set the phone down again.

He would deal with Dean later. He'd already forgiven him, anyway. Right now all Castiel could think about were dark, frosty eyes and a slur of a voice as sharp as glass. Crushed glass, Castiel thought; that was what the man's voice reminded him of. Bright and almost innocent with the smoothness of the surface just by mere look and sound, but when felt it tore the skin raw and bloody with the barest scrape of his voice. The boy shivered involuntarily and closed his eyes again.

He was probably worrying for nothing. He was small fry, just some random kid in a random city, and a man like him would never waste time on Castiel. It was over.

It was over.

Yet Castiel couldn't stop _thinking_ about him. His agile, powerful hands that held that stupid cup of coffee so delicately yet pinned _him_ down so fiercely. Those dark eyes that felt like the very kiss of death. That voice that could make him shiver and make him bleed all at once. Those _eyes_. Those hands on him. And Castiel couldn't forget that leg between his-

Castiel's eyes snapped open and he very literally smacked himself over the side of his face. Too much. He was reading too much into gestures that were meant to set him off. No move that man did was ever out of place, and each touch and word were merely to drag out the worst reaction possible. And that…"leg thing," Castiel was now calling it in his mind because any more details made him think far too much, was simply another catalyst to a bad reaction. The boss was _tormenting_ him. That was all it was.

That was _all_ it was.

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Blackwing. Those were the glory days. Back then the "boss" had been the brunt man and Yellow was the sharpshooter, and the sweet talker. Oh, of course they both knew their way around the art of venom laced words, of promises almost too good to be true, but no one was a master like Yellow had been. It really did bring him back.

Years ago the fabled Inquisitor had been known as the less illustrious title of Razor. There were many reasons for the name regardless, his sharp tongue aside; the boss ran his thumb over the sheath of his blade in fond remembrance, tracing the inlaid gold that was done by hand. A brunt man indeed. Even then his reputation was known, yet feared to be spoken of. His talent with sharp objects could make the strongest men cry. Funny, how each day he simply improved his craft. He refused to let a talent his former boss found in him go to waste.

Blackwing. Their beautiful, powerful leader. It seemed nothing could stop his rule. But then.

The boss frowned and snapped the pen he had been fiddling with.

Castiel. Castiel was just the leverage he needed. Small world indeed.

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_A/n: All reviews, favorites, and alerts are greatly appreciated. _


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